THEY ARE STILL_HUNTERS

Hunters of the unseen; they have hearts walking iniquity forests while bodies sleep partially silent nights. Nights governed by howling sounds uttering the language of beasts claiming territorial dominion of the dark sky. They are hunters; beings sending forth their souls searching with flaming torches, refuge in the midst of the hideous terrestrial mind. The mind; the wind playing devil’ stirring hand to the tranquil waters covering sorrows of the terrestrial’s heart in the lake of earthly desires, the very mind that has kept terrestrials in the darkest hour of a fatal winter night, though the sun chants light over shinny foreheads of the unseen sky gods, mind created monsters hiding in the empty passages of nothingness cluttering the atmosphere, the great source of the terrestrial’s fear; the unseen. From between the wretched thighs of the non existing dark witch of the unobserved, fear of the unknown was given birth. Words passed mouths from all the corners of earth preaching oblivion to believers of eternal death, slaves to ideas of hell being death’s only aftermath. Throwing their hearts where no thought can reach; they are hunters of the unseen.

Hunters with bodies chained on death raw chairs while souls chase mind to the planet of lucid dreams. Toes tipping silver lining hopes of being set free from the torment of their grumbling hearts of earthly desires; they are hunters. Arrows bow to sharp points made by loud body language yelling truth to lost eyes, eyes deafened by hand gestures speaking antagonizing tongues to silent mouths, ears feeding on last notes of a rhythmic heart pounds. The universe is trembling with despair. Only they can hunt and kill the hopelessness enveloping the terrestrial’s divinity in the cruel claws of the horrid terrestrial made monstrous bird flying hatred and suffering winds through the calm sky, terrestrials breath now the diluted air by the painful wing movements of this flying machine. Light beams emerge in the darkest face of time. Unknown to them is a life with no grin, tears they can only imagine.  With spirits playing hide and seek with souls and letting mind observe the godly game, they are hunters. 

Follow their souls left grounded when gravity forced their shoes to marry earth, they are not of this world, they are hunters of the unseen with guns cocked by violet liquid flavored lilies to shoot roses and ordain the sun with oily flowers. To catch their prey they speak beauty in different glowing words when they pray giving thanks and honor each day, gratitude be the greatest song enunciated by their still minds. They have mastered the art of being thieves of motion; they still movements, craft statues from mobile bodies carrying static hearts beating only when fright vacuums adrenalin out glands of comfort. Hunters preying on already deceased organisms; only in death is the truth absolute. This side of forever bears only a portion of what might be true, there is but a half truth! Both sides of a story communicate only the duality of everything, darkness is as fundamental as light is. Death is Life. Even God needs Satan. The servants of God need to know about the dark deeds of the Prince of Darkness so to stay intact with their God. The Universal Law of Polarity. With eyes pointing arrows and oblivious to the point of the arrow; they are hunters of the unseen.

Their prey is captured by prayer. God dwells in the word. The word is God. They speak serenity to oscillating winds and still mobility out of space. With shut minds they gaze at skies and see no clouds, clouds hide the sultry sky with deceptions of rainy and partly disastrous weather conditions, clouds change and sky remains the same, they gaze at skies and let lenses caress the moon while pupils kiss the stars, with sight oblivious to the unsatisfied clouds sobbing darkness to wet the land with rain drops of shadowed cries. They have killed mind and became. 

Nothing is novel under the sun! They reside on milky points of the unending way and suck energy from elucidated by meteors, chests of feminine galaxies. Hands beyond degrees of 360 ticks revolutionizing time they have been around, observing their childhood enlarging spines of infant experiences to balance their adulthood, which now reads death scripted by daily travails of earthly desires on a black page, the knowledge gathered to wrinkle their old age. They saw all the growth stages. They have always been there, part of terrestrials with bodies miming all that is done by their surroundings, but forgetting not that they are hunters. With frozen minds and boiling spirits, souls are neither cold nor warm, they are still hunters. 

Change is inevitable; they cannot name. Knights with hearts rooted beneath horse shoes; they have souls of still allowing their anti-gravity spirits, flight towards the magnet of God, with chests attached to Nirvana’s heart beating melodies of bliss to sing light notes to dark tones of time and stone existences to higher the realms of life. They are STILL hunters. Souls clearing the path for hearts to euphorically walk the land.

THEY ARE HUNTERS OF STILLNESS.

LETTER TO PHOENIX

I'm at that point were I just want to write, not poetry precisely but just write. I want to write about anything. So today I was learning the basics of writing Sonnets, I must say sonnets are much of work that the normal poetry I always write. Now I just thought of a random thing I can run a couple of words over, then I stumbled and fell over this exciting and amazing "mythological" creature; PHOENIX. Yes, so I without any fragment of "inspiration" decided to write this bird a letter. . .

The letter reads...

Dear Fiery Bird Phoenix

You are of neither begging nor ending, the perpetual being of an inferno soul. You wear flames as your pride, you curse the poles and inhabit only where heat resides. Your wings boil atmospheric walls and let loose the shy wind to play around airy play grounds, shaking its elegant tail and letting crescent moons exhale full shapes to circulate the sun’s hate, terminate its missions of poking the ozone layer and blinding our ancestor’s sight. The fiery lord; with passion beating your heart and inspiration flowing your fuel blood. Wisdom was a solid rock, Fiery lord you have melted all the rigidity out of iron intelligence and reigned to mortals light, enlightenment. You warmed into thinkers, news about reincarnation. You were and are the after none we point in proving the eternity within time, lord we know they will return because you do. Death is but a change of apparel, yes you taught us. Death is but a restart to all the monotonous scenes of the undirected play we act out. In awe we shout; miracles of the instant rebirth just on the act of death. We see life rising from death only to destroy existence and build a living. Phoenix we are now familiar with tales of enlightenment, we know about Prometheus and his divinity, you befriended his numb hands and helped in bringing salvation to mankind. Storms are now cooked. Extinguishers now exist. Alchemists value your existence, lead has to be processed into gold. They have brought their coins to purchase sparks and to hell flames were sold, horrid stories unfold, truths untold, you lord, you never get old. Forever young, you have kept life exuberant, the hidden gods feed upon your smoky scent, Abel of Genesis left us the example. You are fiery o endless bird. You're immortal o eternal bird. You are of the gods.

They categorize you in the panel of mythologies, I know you not a myth. You are virtual. You see fiery bird, they don’t believe your existence but I have faith in you.

I know what they believe. I know what has enslaved them for centuries. They are slaves to ideas of what was. They are enslaved by silent voices they visualize from their environment’s mouth, their society. They say you are a myth, how mythological are their sanctuaries, their abode of shivering pillars, quacking temples, shelters roofed by tiles of predictions and deceptions. Yes they claim to have faith, but do they trust?  Fiery lord they don’t trust, lord faith is beyond trust so where is faith situated when there is no foundation of trust, mind believe lord. The say “seeing is believing” …I don’t know lord, if they have really visually witnessed what they “believe” in.

You see lord, I have came to realize that the universe is filled with many believes or rather “myths” and now mortals get to select whichever “truth”  they want to follow and become enslaved by its man made “principles”, so lord, it matters not what one believes, it’s always going to be just a myth to the next. So fiery lord, I have chosen you amongst many of the “truths” advertised as if they were new Glomail products, to me and only this time I have to offer my soul for purchases.

I am now; with flames from your wings lord, illumined enough to know and comprehend that ; there is no bad food, all food is good, it is just a persons preference, yes some may desire to eat what isn’t good for their bodies and this will then result to their bodies being rebellious to the food, yes lord, allergies.

We believe what we want to, so let us not try to feed our slogans to the next. Faith is not a trend. Not a new cool brand.

Yes fiery lord. I’m grateful of you existence and for the flaming ear you landed these empty words of mine. You’re divine o lord.

Sincerely yours

Mind

TO ME. SECRET SOCIETY 1696

I AM OF THEM. WE  ARE THEM. THEY ARE US.

They are coming to fetch us; tomorrow we will not be here. . . .

Based on the theory of reincarnation; I have found them, those of the same source from which I sprung. I am with them the Offspring of him who was, then died, soul split, new bodies formed, soul shared, now One being existing in separate embodiments. I have found him in them. They have found him in me. We found him. Now mind is the link we have to combine bodies, souls are done, souls are one. We are parallel to one another. We communicate by unseen mediums...far beyond words and actions.

I trully honor the gods in them.
They are my brothers.
They know me.
I know them.

I GOD YOU DEAR GODS :')

THE ALL

In the beginning there was the Word…
The raw material from which existence came to being.
The Word that shouted Light into the black sun
The Word that shouted water into the ocean, seas that pierced the land by rivers which gave a premature birth to streams, evolved now to taps; running water immobilized by metallic pieces of the now creation.
The tongue that spoke the language of footpaths
Translated to streets, news meant for roads understood only by avenues. Thus made sense to forsaken boulevards preaching highways and singing freeways to the silent point, till there was no way! But the Word, that created All That Is. The All.

Seconds pass minutes paralyzed by hours that skipped blind dates and jumped dark days chasing the not so strong sequence of days…weeks with wings flying beneath the brutal mouth of months swallowing full moons and regurgitating years; broken particles of decades mended by the invisible hands that built centuries holding with numb hands flames to light years and cremate eternity to no time but ashes that form The All.
“Nothing can rise higher than its source!”
Index toes. Tip toeing. Loud sign languages. Tick talking.
Fingers walking the day and running the night.
Cuff hands within the clock and arrest time.
The end of day and night, future and past.
Time: the old madman; a wizard; with the elixir of life beneath his tongue, immortal being perpetuated by the unseen supreme force with an invisible rope pulling to the east and unattached arms pushing to the west, to maintain the infinite agony in man’s mind.
Punctuality is the new devil and man has lost kind.
Space hates time, now matter has melted into mystery.
Misery has befriended joyful lips and now all you get is a fake smile.
“If you think your life is unfair, you can take mine diamonds are forever a dream
I found peace in the dark, so I speak dime into coal till I see it shine!” spoke the walls.
The also can speak you know, as much as they hear.
They heard when the word shouted stillness into their rigid bodies and unshaken they remain.
Mountains that obeyed the word and even this day they cast low shadows in bowing to The All.

“There is nothing else to define, confine, bound, limit, or restrict The All.”

“Answer to the great question. How did all this come to be?”
“The mystical moment of creation. How we all would die to see!”
Words of paranoid clouds yelled to the low self esteemed sky.
“Every night a star is born!” responded the shy sky.
And from the fabric of life a strand is torn.
Father Universe is slowly getting naked, clothes abandon outfits, forsake costumes and ditch garments it’s apparent the death of apparels. God hides beneath the invisibility cloak.
Clocks hit noon; Sky slips into her black dress with blushing diamonds. She’s got a date with a male: tough shoulders and soft knees, with no directions he goes by the name Destiny. Never has he fallen victim of any short cuts.
Pilgrims have died on their right paths, left luggages lying in truth fields; sunflowers that oiled their hearts. Now their cracking fossils form his body parts.
“Hear me retards! Every event in your life is predetermined, so trying to fight me like a circulating rumor…is pointless!”
By the hand that wrote you into life, the very hand that painted you into existence; your destiny was determined.

All you have to do is follow omens. Be one with the clan of mortals praying with their heads rooted in quicksand; the fast and reliable transportation medium of prayers to the deserted gods; the underworld messengers of balance to celestials.
They hold in their sacred hands magnets that glued Sir Moon to Madam Earth.
They are the source of gravity. They are gravity.

These mortals pray as to be granted the ability to access visions of an old man’s eye, reading omens, angels fly holding injections with royal blood to pump into totems.
Tokens of the absolute, answers to solving problems of x-axis so we don’t have to ask why in the mental plane short is the opposite of both long and tall.
“May the united verses grant us eternal wisdom to comprehend The All”

They were sailors polluting the content water of the sea with shouts of: I AM GOD!
When in actual fact the truth dissects perception and all pretentious acts, directs lost ship to accurate relations, so both interact with tranquility and euphoria is intact. Hearts beat with bliss mimicking dance of insane insects.
In actual fact man is just a part of God, his soul combined with the next and all that is within the circumference of the universe then forms God.
God is not a content of one soul, but all souls are contents of God.
God is all that is…

The Word_Universe_The All.

CITY OF THE DEAD

Grab a plant; place it near your nostrils so you can hold your breath. When walking down passages of torment, an entrance to the Black Nazareth. A castle; with walls bleeding hope through its crevices of death. Here the rate of death is not equal but exceeds that of birth. Occult hang spots juxtaposed temples, all construct CITY OF THE DEAD. Brighter thighs beneath street lamps prohibit light so darkness can spread. Deliberately mute preachers so the name God can end.

I’m a child of the spoken junk, suspended at the centre of this gigantic yet clustered city, with tall buildings forever growing like hatred in half siblings. A place were to some floors are ceilings to the ones under. House over the other, your above neighbor steps daily on your dreams.
I say high, she says low and indeed me and her get low. Every time I have a job, just for a cup of sugar she volunteers to blow. The sun dies, then resurrected.

The next morning. I say high, she ignores me since she is already high. Abide by the laws of this town. Last night was just that. And today between us attached are no strings. O CITY OF THE DEAD…
The walking dead, with bandages covering their forever wounded egos, perpetually affected by the unseen issues bruising even when the wind blows. Look at that one, she’s so hot! Please keep your eyes off her if you don’t want flames on your eye brows. Windows; a quick escape way out of life and sometimes are used for bungee jumping. Traffic as magical star fishes rushing to brighten the liquid skies at twilight in the below river banks possess more people with empty pockets but with treasure in their pirated personalities.

I’m sick and well I seek a wheal, drink mother nature’s tears off her fading face. Earth curses the day she gave life to this place. I can’t drink tap water because people tap water by pissing in the dam so evaporation impregnates clouds resulting to rain being a bustard. A fatherless child. Trying daily to find in every man a home by sticking his formless self to their clothes but they quickly get home and tumble dry him off, down the drain cause it rhymes with rain. How heartless.

Everyone here has replaced their hearts with a shiny spherical metal, a coin. Put it in their pockets and witness them bow and become your servants. O CITY OF GOLD…Let the truth unfold, your oblique stories be told, lose your deceiving mask, let people see your eyes; windows to your soul, man left of them are just frames, no glass, your soul has escaped, running chasing wealth of this world. Death forever haunts your inhabitants and die they do. CITY OF THE DEAD

Joburg is a ghost town; with phantoms on acoustics at night hypnotic serenades, expensive lullaby your path to sleep so your tomorrow is already broke. Evoke the lord of stupidity on cross roads cars as ginipiks chasing static carcasses they shake hands with death, it was a mistake the driver did not see me I was in black, yes mistakes do happen, man even mutants with their sign languages sometimes on words they choke. Provoke fallen soldiers, who fell while sitting with their backs on the ground, call squads of kids that replaced their mothers’ roles with the street, forever shouting for help but with God their discreet. Breath in Breath out, they breath the same air since they lungs glued together, sniffing the colorful substance. Death invites them to dinner and come they do. They dead! And promoted to the ghosts that eternally haunt your nights with nights of dead horses running over the king that porn’s his queen in the castle before the bishop. Check mate! You’re dead! CITY OF THE DEAD!

JOBURG MY JOBURG. . . . .

PERSPECTIVE SHIFT

It rests on the night's palms the life of a star. Fist of the dark sky clinch within it the star's life span, a life with no plan fetus that generated from no sperm, plant with leaves suspended on the face of the earth with no stem, a manuscript inked with no pen.

It is short the life of a star, dies due to light dressing up the abdominal portion of sister earth. We nomads of light wake every morning moaning the star's death, every evening celebrate the star's rebirth, weep while observing the lost daughters and now with sons of Seth, casting wishes upon a star's death. Blind as to see that; it shoots not the black, sky but its own chest.

- PERSPECTIVE_SHIFT -

Cease wishing upon shooting stars. As they are those who's illumination never caught your sight and now commit suicide to capture your attention. SHIFT-PERSPECTIVE

Silhouettes of eyebrows pushed to form shadows when hitting the wall, slapping his face are contrasting spectrum colors of the shy light within the pale moon, pity he cannot witness the joyful foot steps of light rays dancing on his face. Its a disgrace to say grace with eyes wide open, he is not subjected to that filthy taboo token, his eyes are forever shut, leading to emptiness that now fills his heart. A blind man dreams not, for dreams require one to have visual ability on both eyes or even one can do, well a third eye doesn't count. He knows not the skin tone of his ugly wife with a smooth skin textured hand feeding him every night, the sense of touch betrayed him! A blind man dreams not.

- PERSPECTIVE_SHIFT -

Do embrace what you do not have, for that might be a blessing in disguise.

He enjoys the view of the sea and see when H walks to O, that very moment when water abandons the sea to inhabit the blue skies in the form of clouds, he finds heaven in visions he creates by stretching his imagination as a blanket pulled to cover all four corners of the earth, a blind man is free from the visual predicaments that have shackled man with solid chains of perception, man imagines only what he knows and already existing. A blind man sees what he likes and knows nothing but the beauty of his own imagination. SHIFT_PERSPECTIVE.

Confused by voices forming this silent soliloquy, words bending the equator on earth's belly. Thoughts are untouchable with characteristics of mercury; hands build gestures, shapes the idea like pottery. Balance the scale of emotions and thoughts as to surpass equilibrium, crack cranium. Roughly sketch her image, with her lips on the minimum and hips on the maximum. Yes, let your pen sell an illustration to the blank page. Now only one voice is heard. Alright, let yourself be the switch and her be the light, with this illuminated pen do write, with a sketch on the right. The precise image of your Miss Right (pardon me please, for you females Mr. Right). The wise ones did say; with your mind your reality you create. Imagine and let your mind reach all quadrants of the universe, with focus on your thoughts you're bound to find him. Then with all you are, love your Mr. Right.

- PERSPECTIVE_SHIFT -

Turn a deaf ear to the voices, unplug they cords and mute they vocals. If your love is that Great, why don’t you choose to love Mr. Wrong to the Right point! Trust your love to wash his ugliness to the handsome point. SHIFT_PERSPECTIVE and love the wrong guy till he gets right.

In a restaurant while on a date at the edge of a leap year calendar. Swallowed after chewing and failing to digest exhibits of that chicken with a shovel, managed to create a path just beneath the highway so it didn't cross the road, but was killed by death.

She gets stomach cramps, heart burns, inferno melts all her chakras, survives solar plexus, fingers intertwine forms a solid nexus, the night's wind on her skin paused all her involuntary reflexes. With his hands as bandages and her the mummy, his voice in her ears altered the set to some Egyptian fantasy.

Unlike the food back at the restaurant, she was able to digest his words, when he spoke: Forget the poetry I'm an MC, so let me wrap my words around you while we embrace the beauty of the sky with its glittering million eyes, stars. Let us kiss the night bright and have the sun for all the 24 hours. Let us with our love embrace the cute nature.

- PERSPECTIVE_SHIFT -

Pokes his finger, clears the soil at the cross point of the roads, the tar surface. Draws with the fluid from his finger two pentagrams and invites her to rest in one, with her head on the 1st corner, hands and feet on other corners, he does the same. Tells her to forget everything even her name: empty yourself of all your contents and let the energy of love run through you. He does the same. Now fully aware, look at the sky, see it changing from light to dark so to reveal its beauty, the stars competing by shining more than the next, others even jumping trying to capture your attention. Look at the cute nature doing all that, going through that much trouble just for embracing your existence. SHIFT_PERSPECTIVE. You don't have to embrace stars, they embrace your beauty.

Disclosed are temple doors, sound becomes so loud that it is not heard, one could hear sounds of ants mimicking the human language. Time for prayer.

The two garage doors beneath the eye brows are pulled down. Shut visions, so that one can concentrate on their words to God, log in to they prayer and never disturbed by what their eyes see. Since automatically eyes send messages to their brain even when the mind is blind.

Close your eyes when praying so that you don't get deceived by looks.

- PERSPECTIVE_SHIFT -

The utterance of words: OUR FATHER. Pulled down the cosmic ropes and God descended in front you he landed, but you couldn't see him because of your obsession of starring at your internal eyelids. He stood there before you hoping that you'd see him, then you got to your last words and said AMEN, you reminded him of his heaven curfew. He motor started his wings and ascended back to heaven.

SHIFT_PERSPECTIVE and let your eyes see what they see for God might just be that portrait holding carefully the wall as not to fall, that piece of ornament honoring the entrance of your guests, that spoon on the table constructing holes on the house atmosphere for microwaves to pass. . .Appreciate what you see because God is all that IS. . .